


...And All Your Little Things

by afteriwake



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Anthea is the Best PA, Eventual Anthea/Mycroft Holmes, Eventual Relationships, F/M, Fluff, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Mycroft Feels, Mycroft Holmes Has Feelings, POV Alternating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 16:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4968121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afteriwake/pseuds/afteriwake
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How to win the heart of someone who doesn't think they have one, <i>or</i>, conversely, Mycroft & Anthea's love story, in thirteen acts.</p>
            </blockquote>





	...And All Your Little Things

**Author's Note:**

  * For [NSquared](https://archiveofourown.org/users/NSquared/gifts), [stickyrice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stickyrice/gifts), [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> So this is another collection of drabbles I wrote thanks to prompts given to me on Tumblr, with many thanks to the people who gave me the suggestions. I had so many prompts that I actually still have a bunch left over, but I felt thirteen were enough to tell this particular tale. Enjoy!

**Act I**

There had been all sorts of facts about his soon-to-be assistant that one would have considered "silly" or "useless" in his file on her, the one he had gotten from his contact in MI-6. Mycroft had never considered them such, though; after the debacle with the last one, it never hurt to know every last intimate detail. Andrea Mitchell had seemed to be fairly benign, though. A few outstanding honors prior to university, top of her class there, many extracurriculars...including one he did not see very often. She was an equestrian, and a very accomplished one. Her family was not well off, but they owned a fine horse, kept it at a fine stable. That, he had decided, he had to see in person

He had gone to one of the British Showjumping events and settled into the seating area well before she was to appear. He tried his best to remain unobtrusive, of course; he had picked a rather popular event and come before she was set to go through the course, and he had planned to leave well after she was done so as to not bring notice that he was there to specifically see her. He paid fair little attention to the others, but then it was her turn. She definitely had grace; that was apparent. She handled her horse well, as though they were of the same mind. He had been quite impressed.

He had never planned to admit to her that he knew about her skill at equestrian sports or her horse or any of it, that he had gone to see her before she became his assistant, but he should have known that she'd figure him out. A slip of the tongue had done him in. He'd mentioned the name of her horse and she'd shaken her head, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. But after that day he began getting personalized invitations to her events, so at least he didn't have to skulk around in the background to admire her beauty in her most favored habitat.

**Act II**

She had learned of his fondness for cupcakes quite by accident. One of the other government officials who he seemed to loathe, Davies, had been by the office, leaning on her desk, trying to be an outrageous flirt and boring her to tears, and he’d made mention of Mycroft’s love of cupcakes, and how he avoided the sweets unless, as he claimed “the empire was coming to an end and he saved the day and then he’d indulge but then it would be hours on that damnable treadmill.” She’d wanted to sweetly and discretely ask for more details before she found a way to humiliate Davies for being a prat but then Mycroft called for him and the moment was gone.

She decided to outright ask Mycroft after a time, though, and he admitted that they were an occasional indulgence, emphasis on occasional. _Very_ occasional. She didn’t query any further; it looked as though he was done with the topic, but she began to research the best bakeries in London, find out who made the best of each flavor cupcakes. She began to find out his own personal tastes, learn what he liked and what he didn’t. She began to gauge his moods, see if there was a time he would fancy one and a time he would not.

And so nearly four months into their partnership, she presented him with a small box from a person she had been told was the best baker in all of London. Granted, he was currently locked up in a psychiatric ward in one of the premiere asylums in the country, but that was just because he’d had a small mental breakdown and baking was his only relief; in the outside world he simply couldn’t function. It was chocolate fudge with a chocolate ganache and cherry filling and whipped chocolate frosting, sprinkled with chocolate shavings. He stared at it a moment, then raised an eyebrow at her before lifting it up, peeling back the paper and taking a bite, moaning in delight as he did so. And from that point forward, he insisted that no other baker be used for his confectionary goods, and he personally rewarded her amply, which had pleased her greatly.

**Act III**

He had overindulged in the sweets, perhaps, and he was paying for it now. He felt rather sick to his stomach, and he was lying in bed, a pillow over his head. He rather hoped the whole damn world would just bugger off while he dealt with the nausea and sour stomach. Of course, that wasn’t about to happen, but still, he could hope.

Suddenly the pillow was lifted off his head and he glared up at Andrea. “Sip this. Slowly, because it’s hot,” she said, pushing a mug in his general direction. He could smell the peppermint wafting out of it. “Spearmint would be better but you didn’t have any and this was all I could find.” He raised an eyebrow and she smirked slightly. “I saw the cupcake wrappers in the rubbish bin. I figured you would need this.”

His glare intensified but he dutifully sat up and carefully held the mug in his hands, taking a few easy sips. After a moment he did notice that the roiling in his stomach seemed to lessen, which was a very good thing. He was glad she had brought it to him, glad that he felt better, even though he would still rather lay about in bed and pretend as though the world outside didn’t exist. After all, he supposed, every once in a while it was all right to indulge in a sick day…even if he no longer felt sick.

**Act IV**

He had scoffed when he had heard that the Canadian ambassador was throwing a masquerade ball, but Andrea’s interest had been piqued by it so he had accepted the invitation on both of their behalves. The closer the day had gotten the most a sense of anticipation had run through her, obvious to anyone who saw her. It was written plainly on her face how much she was looking forward to the event, and he loved seeing it.

His own mask of disdain was quite permanently situated on his face for the most part, but there were times that she managed to bring about the hint of a smile, just the smallest upturn of a lip, or sometimes occasionally a gleam to his eye. She was getting to him, getting under his skin. Getting close. He wasn’t sure if that was an altogether good or bad thing, to be honest. And that…that concerned him.

**Act V**

From the masquerade ball on, there had been many functions where dancing had been involved. She had enjoyed dancing with many men of many ages and many skill levels. Some had swept her around the floor, making her feel like Ginger Rogers to their Fred Astaire. Some had left her with bruised toes and scuffed heels. Some had made her come dangerously close to swearing off dancing altogether and simply sitting at a table and nursing the outrageously expensive alcohol at these functions.

But Mycroft would never dance with her. Granted, he never danced with anyone, so she didn’t feel _too_ slighted, but she had hopes that, perhaps, at one point, he might take her in his arms and take her around the floor in some elegant waltz, heedless of anyone else in the room. She wanted that so badly, and each soiree that ended without that happening left her just a bit sadder.

And now, as she glided along the floor in the arms of someone else, as she smiled at the man and laughed at the appropriate times and made polite conversation, she kept stealing glances at the crowd, looking for him. She would much rather be in his arms, talking with him, smiling at him, dancing with him. She wanted it with all her heart, and if things didn’t change soon she wasn’t sure what she’d do.

**Act VI**

It had been a sudden downpour, and if it hadn’t been for his damnable brother filching his umbrella to tweak his nose they would have made it to his home completely dry. But they ended up being soaked to the bone in between waiting for their driver to bring the car around and then in the process of making the mad dash to his door which, of course, had no covered awning or any nonsense like that. They stumbled into the foyer, dripping wet and shivering and he was annoyed until he looked at her, saw the look of amusement on her face. “You look like a drowned rat,” she said with a soft laugh.

“Well, you look like a kitten caught in the rain,” he said, hesitating for a moment before stepping closer to her. The look on her face changed to one slightly more heated, something much warmer and flirtier, and he framed her face in his hands, running his thumbs over her cheekbones. He was never good at recognizing the perfect romantic moment but even he would be an idiot if he didn’t take advantage of this one, he thought to himself as he leaned in to kiss her for the first time. And as she grasped the lapels of his suit jacket, pulling him closer, heedless of the water dripping from both of them and pooling at their feet, he realized he had indeed made the right choice.

**Act VII**

When she first met him, she would have sworn his eyes were brown. Nothing spectacular, a rather dull shade. No warm flecks of gold to warm them up, nothing in particular to make them stand out. It turned out he did that on purpose. On their first assignment when they traveled together, she saw he wore colored contacts. He had gorgeous blue eyes, it turned out, the type you could stare at for hours and get lost in, the type to pull you in and never let you go. For a man who needed to appear unassuming and unmemorable, it was the perfect cover.

Now, though, when they were alone, he didn't bother with them. And she would find herself staring into those gorgeous blue eyes, radiated with the warmth of the smile on his face reserved only for her, and realize how lucky she was that he would lower his shields for her, drop his guard, be his true self around her. She was lucky that she got to see behind the mask of Mycroft Holmes, government official and see Mycroft Holmes, the man who had managed to steal a heart she had never been sure she'd had until she'd met him.

**Act VIII**

He was not one to like pubs. He hadn’t liked them in his university days, he hadn’t liked them in his early days in the government, he hadn’t liked them the few times he’d had to go to them since. He preferred the comforts of the Diogenes Club, the exquisite spirits and the regalness and most of all the silence. This pub was far too loud, but it was where their contact had chosen to meet and as this was a very clandestine, off the books meeting, he would have to simply suffer through it.

He watched Andrea lower her hand off the table and carefully set it on his thigh, squeezing. As both his hands were on the table and their relationship was to remain strictly professional as much as humanly possible, it was only discrete touches and sidelong glances that they would allow themselves. Still, for the moment, it was enough. There was a promise behind it, one that said “When we’re alone, I’ll reward you for your patience.” He hoped his reward would be losing himself for a few hours in her company, with perhaps a few kisses at the end of the evening.

Or perhaps more. He could admit, he would like more. He’d thought of more, of wooing her, of taking her to bed and trying to impress her with skills that had been dormant for far too long. Though, he supposed, he’d just make a fool of himself. Still, he thought as she gave him a small smile before nodding to the door where their contact was arriving before removing her hand, if she gave him the chance, who knew what he could do with the chance to prove himself?

**Act IX**

She stretched in the bed, not too surprised when the arm around her waist tightened and pulled her back. She smiled at that and snuggled against Mycroft as the early morning light shone in on them. It had been a surprise them ending up in bed together; they had both had just a tad bit more to drink than they probably should have, and neither of them had _really_ wanted to part for the evening, and so she had simply taken him by the hand and led him into her bedroom and let things take their course.

He pressed a kiss to the side of her neck. “Do you have any regrets?” he asked as she turned to face him, placing her hands on his chest before sliding her hands up to frame his face. He looked at her as though he was almost sure of what her reaction would be, but there was still a room for error, a chance that she did, indeed, regret it.

She leaned in and pressed her lips against his, and after a moment he pulled her close against him before rolling them over so he was on top of her. When he pulled away from her she looked up at him with eyes full of love, running a finger along his cheek. “I have no regrets,” she said quietly, looking at him with a wide smile. “None at all.”

**Act X**

“Now, you can’t complain, dear,” Andrea murmured, lacing up her trainers. “After all, you said if you had that second Jaffa flavored cupcake you would get up early to go with me on my morning run. Just because you sleep like the dead and you don’t realize _how_ early I get up for my run…well, that’s on you.” He watched her appreciatively as she stood and began to stretch, loosening up her limbs. Truth be told he knew exactly when she got up. He could always tell when she left the bed because he missed her warmth when she was no longer beside him. And he knew this early morning run wasn’t going to kill him; he ran far longer on his treadmill.

But he _had_ hoped she would indulge him, at least a little, in letting him complain just a bit at the early hour. He supposed he had been hoping for too much, he thought with a sigh. But then he caught the look in her eye, the slight twinkle there. He saw the barest upturn at the corner of her lip. Oh, she would let him complain bitterly when this was all over. She might even coddle him a bit. Perhaps, if he was lucky, he could convince her to take some time to lie back down and rest in bed. He didn’t think she would object to that _too_ strenuously. And if it led to their hearts racing once again…well, there was no real harm in that, now, was there?

**Act XI**

They had done a remarkable job of keeping their relationship quiet, she thought. Their compatriots in the government didn’t have a clue, Sherlock didn’t seem to have an inkling…she was actually quite proud of them and their ability to remain to the public at large as though they were simply an employer and his assistant. But there were always two people she was afraid they wouldn’t be able to fool: his parents. _Especially_ his mother. Violet Holmes always gave her the most knowing looks ever since she and Mycroft had shared their first kiss.

And here they were, her and Violet, in the kitchen of Violet’s home, cooking together. There was a hum in the air, and there was a…vibe, of sorts…that Andrea could feel, that Violet knew something. She kept stealing glances at the younger woman, giving her smiles, and finally Andrea had to know. She stopped rolling the pastry dough for the steak and kidney pie and looked at Violet. “You know, don’t you?” she asked, tilting her head. “About your son and I?”

Violet nodded. “I do,” she said. “And I approve of it wholeheartedly. You’re quite good for him. I haven’t seen him this light of heart in years.” She reached over and patted her hand. “Thank you for that, dear. You’ll never know how much that means to me.” Violet gave her a warm smile and she felt herself returning it, her mind at ease. Even if they hadn’t been able to fool his parents, at least she could take comfort in the fact that they had his mother’s approval.

**Act XII**

He wasn’t sure why, but he felt an intense need to impress Andrea. He wanted to shower her with gifts, take her to places she’d never been, give her experiences she’d never had before. He wanted to ensure that she was satisfied with him, with their relationship, and that her every need was met. He _cared_ , which was unusual for him. But it was beyond that, he thought.

He’d had few relationships, because he had felt very little need to connect with anyone in the past. He felt it was best to keep everyone at arm’s length: his family, his colleagues…he had no friends, so there was never anyone that he felt he had to connect with there. But Andrea had been someone he’d felt a need to connect with such a deep, intense need that it almost frightened him.

He wasn’t sure what that meant, for him, for them, but it was there. Perhaps it was love. Perhaps that was why it was so strong. And if it _was_ love, then perhaps he should do something about it. Take action. Make a grand gesture, something to show that he felt something for her that was more than just simple caring. The question was…what would that gesture be?

**Act XIII**

She had stayed quiet as they made their way to the airport. She knew that he was not going away on an indefinite mission life his brother had. He was going to go to Russia, extract Sherlock and then bring him home. That was all there was to it and it would be done in a matter of days. But she didn’t want to think about the fact that that meant days of having an empty bed to herself. She rather liked having him nice and close, to be honest.

They made their way out onto the tarmac, stopping in front of his plane. She stood in front of him, leaning in for a lengthy kiss which he returned before she smoothed down the front of his coat. “Don’t get yourself killed, Mycroft,” she said. “And do me a favor and try not to let your brother goad you into getting into _too_ much trouble, all right?”

“Only if you will do me the honor of marrying me upon my return,” he said, giving her the barest hint of a smile. She grinned at him before kissing him again, and this time he pulled her close, sliding his hands from her waist to the small of her back, not wanting to let her go. When they separated again he looked down at her. “I will take that as a yes, then,” he said with a smirk, and she rolled her eyes in response before pushing at him slightly to board the plane. One day, that man was going to drive her to drink…


End file.
